Cat Food

I have this friend at work whose name I do not know. We're very close. (Shut up.) She's a para(educator), and we proctored a test together at the beginning of the school year. Like every traumatic experience, this one brought us closer. And like every test that needs a proctor, this one was several days long. The extent of our friendship, because we are teachers, is a rushed exchange when we pass on our way to or from the bathroom, on days we're lucky enough to have time to go. In this manner, a little at a time, I've learned all about her cat. Due to time limitations and the cat's Highly Dramatic Life, my friend and I don't really talk about anything else.

I first learned the cat (whose name I forget) is a he. (Have I mentioned I suck with names?) I learned a couple of weeks later that the cat had trouble using the litter box and was peeing on the floor. I made a couple of suggestions, and they worked. (New litter box, new location, for those of you who wonder.) Of course, now we were super BFFs. First proctoring, then I stopped her cat peeing on the floor. The woman loves me. A few weeks after the litter box incident, I passed her in the hall and was informed that her boyfriend had moved in, and the cat didn't like him. He (the cat, not the boyfriend) hid under the bed for a week. I helped her with that, too. (Don't do anything. He'll come out. I have an extensive history with cats. Am Jewish lesbian, after all.) The next time I saw her she told me the cat had run away. She posted a sign and messaged her neighborhood list serv. Well, you can imagine the results of that! One person threatened to beat up her cat (I do not understand) and another called the SPCA. Some others sent her death threats. For posting about a lost cat, people! What is this world we live in??

Sasha's old cat food, by the roasting pan and
the crock pot, which we also never use.

So the cat (let's call him Fluffball, just because) was lost and stayed away for many moons. Finally around February, my friend (let's call her Glenda, just because) grabbed me in the hallway, very excitedly. "He's back!" she squealed. And because I am an enthusiastic sort, I danced a little jig with Glenda in the hallway there. Evidently, Fluffball had just strolled in one evening while Glenda had the door propped open to bring in groceries, as if he'd never been gone. He looked fine, smelled fine, was fine. Cats! Go figure. But then! In March, Fuzzball (Fluffball? Whatever) started puking a lot. Glenda took him to the vet, and learned he (the cat, not the vet) was allergic to his food. He required a low allergen cat food, sold only at the vet, for $50 a bag. Of course, Glenda bought six. Anything to stop the cat puking.

A couple of weeks later Glenda stopped me in the hallway and asked me if I had any use for Fuzzball's old food, which she had an almost full bag of. None of the shelters will take opened food. Probably they think we're list serv crazies who've poisoned it, because harming animals one has never met before is so much fun! But I couldn't use Fuzzball's food. "I have the same problem," I said to Glenda. "Sasha has food allergies, too. I was gonna post to my neighborhood list serv to see if anyone wanted her old food, but I chickened out." The end.